'Charging straight into the foe would be more honourable than hiding behind peasants w ith bow s,' said Bertelis sourly. Gunthar sighed and gave him a long look.
'In the pages of legend? Yes, you are right, but this is reality, and the duke's strategy has merit. He w ill win a great victory here today, and that is w hat w ill be remembered. Have patience, young lords of Garamont. You w ill be in the thick of the fighting soon enough. There will be plenty of time for you to earn your honour this day.'
The knights had harried the enemy w ithin the woods, engaging them in running battles and skirmishes, driving them alw ays towards the w est, towards the edge of the forest. Regiments of yeomen peppered their ranks with bow fire, galloping aw ay from them w hen the enraged greenskins sought to engage them, drawing them slowly out into the open. Sorties and attacks from lances of knights had killed hundreds of the greenskins, retreating once more when the enemy gathered in strength. Like sheep being herded by dogs, the greenskins were bunched together in a mass, and driven beyond the reaches of the forest, out into the open fields, where the thunderous charge of the Bretonnian knights would dominate.
The enemy was a seething roiling mass of bodies, and they roared as they surged across the open ground, uncaring of the terrible toll that w as being inflicted upon them by w ave after w ave of arrow s and hurled stones. Poles hung w ith skulls, bones and feathers w ere waved above heads, and the brutal creatures bellow ed like animals as they ran, cleavers and axes in their crude hands.
Calard saw a miniscule goblin clamber atop a chunk of rock, embedded in the earth, that had been fired by one of the trebuchets, climbing above the surging sea of greenskins that broke around the chunk of masonry. Despite the distance, Calard could see that this creature had a crow n of black feathers embedded in its scalp, and that it carried a staff that looked like a fused spine.
Its eyes rolled back in its head as the creature began to shudder and leap, froth bubbling from its mouth. Its bizarre capering seemed to fill the surging greenskins w ith fervour, for they began chanting a grunting, repetitive mantra, striking their w eapons and shields against each other in time to it.
'Sorcery,' spat Bertelis.
Calard w hispered a prayer to the Lady as the shaman continued to caper and scream.
Whatever foul magicks the diminutive creature was attempting to unleash were, how ever, forestalled. It paused midstream in its summoning of pow er, looking up into the sky. A massive block of masonry w as hurtling tow ards it, spinning end over end as it dropped through the air.
It slammed into the shaman, crushing it to pulp. The chunk of masonry split into two as it slammed into the rocky outcrop the goblin had been perched upon, and the two halves bounced into the press of green-skinned bodies, crushing limbs and flattening bodies.
Bertelis gave a barking, short laugh in surprise.
The enemy was less than two hundred paces from the Bretonnian line, and closing fast. Calard could make out individual, savage faces, covered in black tattoos depicting spiders, skulls and geometric shapes. They were big brutes, the smaller greenskins being thrust out of the w ay and trampled underfoot, as the largest and strongest pushed their way to the front, roaring and bellowing.
'Hold!' roared Gunthar fiercely, eyeing the line of young knights, sensing their impatience and tense eagerness. He flicked a glance up the line of Bretonnians, w atching for the duke's signal.
Calard licked his lips, and gripped his lance tightly, as the wall of greenskins surged tow ards them. A bugle sounded, and the first line of peasant bow men turned and fled, running lightly back through the ranks of the knights, slipping betw een the formations, their arrow s spent. Upon the slopes behind the knights other peasants continued to launch their deadly missiles, clouds of black arrow s arcing overhead and falling amongst the packed enemy ranks.
Calard tensed, tightening his grip on his lance, as the horde of greenskins streamed forw ards. He felt Gringolet's muscles bunching, the destrier's ears flat against its skull, eager to charge forw ards.
Gunthar raised his lance high into the air, and Calard's heart w as beating wildly in anticipation.
Finally, all along the line, trumpets and horns sounded.
'Charge!' roared Gunthar. As one, the knights errant rammed spurred stirrups into the flanks of their warhorses, and charged, forming a thick wedge behind the weapon master.
Hundreds of knights kicked their steeds forward, and the entire line surged into motion. They started slowly, and the ground began to thunder as their momentum picked up. The field was churned to mud in their wake, and lances began to low er as the pace of the w arhorses increased. Less than fifty paces out from the enemy, the knights kicked their steeds into the charge.
Thousands of peasant men-at-arms took up the cry of battle, and they too surged forw ard like a living tide, running at full pace tow ards the foe in the wake of their mounted lords and masters.
'For Garamont!' roared Calard. The ground w as a blur beneath him as Gringolet leapt forw ards, and he shouted into the wind as the knights errant thundered across the field tow ards the enemy. Bertelis was at his side, a look of exhilaration on his face as he echoed Calard's battle cry.
The sound of three thousand charging knights was unlike anything that Calard had ever experienced. The rumble of crashing hooves was deafening, and the ground reverberated as if shook by an earthquake.
Three thousand couched lances were lowered, and it seemed to take an age to cross the open space betw een the two forces, though it must have only been mere seconds.
Then the forces collided with a colossal impact, their lines blurring together as flesh smashed against metal w ith bone-crushing force.
Calard's lance took a snarling orc in the throat, the tip exploding through the back of the creature's neck, and impaling another close behind, taking it in the face. Others w ere smashed aside by the sheer weight and power of the knights, limbs shattered and skulls crushed beneath flashing hooves.
His lance gone, Calard's sword was instantly in his hand, and he hacked at the blur of enemies as the knights errant surged forwards.
The screams of pain and anger were deafening but the knights maintained their momentum, ploughing deep into the enemy formation. Calard's blade cleaved down, carving through flesh and bone. A spear glanced off his breastplate, and he thrust the point of his sword into the gaping mouth of another orc, blood gurgling from the fatal w ound.
Kicking Gringolet fiercely, urging the powerful beast to continue its charge and not slow , Calard saw Bertelis deflect a blow on his shield, the force of the attack nearly knocking his brother from the saddle.
A hulking orc roared, and hacked the forelegs from beneath a w arhorse nearby, and the steed screamed as it w as felled, ploughing a furrow in the earth. The knight w as hurled from the saddle, smashing into the rabble of orcs in front, and metal w as bashed out of shape as spiked clubs and cleavers hammered into the fallen warrior.
Then both the knight and his murderers were overrun and crushed into the mud, to be left bloody and broken in their w ake.
Gringolet stumbled, and Calard struggled to keep his balance. A blade was thrust tow ards his chest, and he reeled back from it, deflecting it with a desperate sweep of his sw ord. Then his attacker w as smashed to the ground by the bulk of Bertelis's w arhorse, disappearing from view.
From the saddle, Calard had a good view over the sea of enemy warriors, and he could see formations of knights to the east charging across the ground, crushing enemies beneath them, before they too ploughed into the flanks of the main enemy battle line. All across the battlefield, the knights w ere riding through the enemy ranks, smashing aside all resistance.
'Pull to the east!' roared Gunthar, driving his warhorse with his thighs, and the knights errant maintained their formation close behind him, cutting and slicing with their sw ords. Calard w inced as a blade struck his thigh, denting his armour, and sent a return blow that shattered the cheek of the snarling orc.
Th
en they were free of the engagement, breaking from the side of the enemy formation. Calard w as shocked to see that less than half their number still rode at their side, and he could see pockets of the knights all across the battlefield still engaged in frantic combat, mired deep in the heart of the enemy formation. With a barked order, Gunthar had the knights wheel sharply, and they thundered back into the heavy press.
Before long, their momentum had been lost, and they found themselves surrounded on all sides. Men cried out as they w ere dragged to the ground and slaughtered, and all order to the battle became lost. Horses reared, screaming in inhuman pain as they w ere pierced by dozens of spears and blades.
A blow glanced off Calard's shield and grazed his temple, and he was thrown from the saddle. There was a moment of w eightlessness as his arms and legs flailed uselessly in the air. The ground seemed to rise towards him with shocking speed, and he slammed into the muddy earth w ith jarring force.
He felt impossibly heavy, and blood w as pumping from his head wound, flowing down his face, though he felt no pain. He lifted his head, and saw a knight no more than a metre aw ay rising to his knees. Calard tried to shout a w arning, but the din of battle sw allowed his cry, and he watched in anguish as an orc smashed a heavy blade down into the knight's head, splitting it from crown to jaw .
Calard pushed groggily to his feet, and he thought he heard someone call his name.
He barely had time to raise his shield as he saw a flash of movement coming at him, and he w as driven to his knees by the force of an attack delivered by another orc.
Pain shot up his left arm and shoulder, and he struggled to find the strength to stand. The creature tow ered above him, a mountain of muscle and brutish strength, and it roared in bloodlust, spraying spittle from its gaping, tusked maw .
A sw ord sliced down and hacked into its neck, and dark blood pumped from the w ound. The orc's head lolled to one side, hanging loosely by muscles and tendons, all but decapitated, and the creature slumped into the mire.
'Calard!' someone shouted again, and he looked up to see Gunthar looming above him, blood dripping from his sword. Calard nodded his head, and swung around to find Gringolet, praying that the noble steed had not fallen.
A blade flashed tow ards him, and he ducked beneath the blow , letting it slide off his shield. Then he lunged forward, driving the point of his sword into green, tattooed flesh. He stumbled as he lunged, and fell atop the orc, his armoured w eight driving the blade home.
Even in death, the creature refused to back dow n, and it roared in his face and clubbed him aside w ith a meaty fist that w as almost the size of his head. His vision sw am, and he staggered to his feet to deliver the killing blow , but flashing hooves caved the creature's head in. Gringolet stood there, nostrils flared and chest heaving, and the destrier shook its head, stamping.
'Get in the saddle!' hissed Gunthar, as he and another knight moved their steeds to intercept a pair of greenskins that launched themselves tow ards Calard. Needing no prompting Calard put his foot in the stirrups and hauled himself, with some difficulty, up onto the destrier's back.
The enemy was crushing in against them from all sides, and, every second, more knights w ere falling, dragged down into the mud and butchered. He saw a flash of w hite, and his anger rose as he saw the figure of Maloric through the press of bodies, cutting around him, his blade streaming with blood as he killed.
Refusing to be outdone by the Sangasse noble, Calard kicked Gringolet forward again, pushing into the enemy, his blade singing through the air.
How long the battle lasted, he could not later recall, but his arm w as leaden, and he w as splattered w ith blood w hen he heard trumpets blaring. He looked around to see fresh lances of knights smashing into the foe, their weight and momentum splintering the orc ranks and driving through their midst.
A w ave of panic surged through the enemy ranks like a raging wildfire. Where, moments before, there w as nothing but savagery and a lust for battle, now there w as the shadow of doubt, and, as the first greenskins turned and fled, the enemy resolve w as shattered.
With a shout, Calard felt his limbs invigorated w ith renewed strength, and he fell upon the panicked foe ruthlessly. The enemy retreat soon turned to a rout, and they streamed tow ards the forest. Contingents of knights and peasants that had been sent by the duke to outflank the enemy w ere already blocking the retreat, and thousands of greenskins were cut dow n as they became caught betw een the Bretonnian forces.
Calard felt a w ild euphoria descend over him as he ran dow n the fleeing enemy. His sw ord hacked into the neck of one creature as it fled, and he saw Bertelis kill another w ith a pow erful downward swing.
Pockets of resistance still held out, w here the biggest and darkest-hued greenskins refused to abandon the field, and the men-at-arms w ere directed against them, while the knights ran down those fleeing tow ards the safety of the trees. Five or more peasants w ere hacked apart for each of the brutish creatures that fell, but slow ly the enemy w as enveloped and brought dow n, and the duke's banner was planted in the middle of the battlefield amid a great pile of the dead.
From somew here behind, Calard heard Gunthar barking for the knights of Garamont to reform their ranks, but he ignored the weapon master, intent on cutting dow n the panicked enemy. He saw Maloric ahead of him, butchering the greenskins, and he kicked Gringolet forward to overtake him.
The field was strewn with the dead and dying and men-at-arms moved across it, dispatching those not yet dead, and dragging back the bodies of injured knights.
Horses w ith broken legs and shattered spines screamed as their throats were cut, and fallen banners were lifted free of the mud and blood, recovered to be reunited w ith their owners or sent back to their castles in mourning.
Knights thundered through the mud in front of the forest, running down fleeing greenskins, and splintered groups of the enemy cut left and right as they sought the safety of the trees. Calard smashed his sword onto the head of another enemy, and sw ung Gringolet around, seeking more enemies to kill.
The knights guarding the retreat of the foe were too few to contain the sheer number of the greenskins, and hundreds were swarming back into the safety of the trees.
Scores of knights, mostly young knights errant like himself, streamed tow ards the trees in pursuit, and he urged Gringolet on, eager not to miss out on the slaughter.
Bertelis w as at his side, and he saw Maloric kick his black charger forward, casting a hateful glance at the brothers.
'For Garamont!' yelled Bertelis, and the brothers thundered through the trees as they entered the forest of Chalons. Bodies of orcs and goblins lay spraw led on the ground.
Bertelis kicked his steed hard as he sighted a fleeing goblin, and Calard sw ung his sw ord around as he closed on a w ounded orc that w as clutching at its bleeding, limp arm as it tried to escape. The greenskin turned as the sound of pounding hooves drew near, and swung its cleaver blindly up at him.
Gringolet shied away from the attack, and Calard met the blow w ith one of his own, the tw o w eapons clashing with the ring of steel. Then a sw ord sliced into the greenskins back, dropping it to the ground, and Calard sw ore as Maloric swept past.
He kicked Gringolet into pursuit.
They pursued the last of the enemy deeper into the forest, ducking their heads beneath w hipping branches, and leaping over fallen logs. Almost a hundred knights thundered dow n into a shallow natural gorge, galloping through the low ferns and passing sw iftly by moss covered rocks.
There, they came upon a scene of slaughter.
Knights, horses and greenskins lay sprawled together, scores of them lying bloody and broken, their lifeblood leaking out onto the forest floor. Calard and the other knights dragged their horses to a halt, staring around w ith horrified, wide eyes, their hearts pounding.
Calard w heeled Gringolet in a tight circle, eyeing the surrounding trees fearfully. The destrier snorted, and its ears flattened against its head, nostrils
flaring. Rocks covered in moss and fern ringed the gulley, and, as he scanned the undergrowth, Calard once again felt as if someone, or something, was watching.
There was no sound beneath the dark canopy far overhead, except for the clank of armour, and the w hinny and stamp of horses.
'I don't like this,' hissed Calard softly. The silence beat dow n on him like a hammer, unnatural and oppressive.
Every pure-bred Bretonnian steed was reared to be accustomed to the din and chaos of battle, of w eapons clashing and the screams of the dying. They were trained to be inured to the scent of blood, and to respond instantly to the directions of their rider.
They w ere strong-willed and aggressive beasts, for a horse too sedate in nature w ould not have the necessary spirit in the heat of battle, and Bretonnian steeds were trained to kick and bite the enemy. Through long and extensive training regimes, Bretonnian w arhorses were not easily panicked.
When the gentle wind changed direction, however, gusting into the gulley from the south-w est, suddenly every horse went w ild, rearing and whinnying in fear. Several knights w ere thrown to the ground, and Calard clung tightly to Gringolet's saddle as the destrier bucked and kicked, his panicked eyes showing as his orbs rolled in the sockets in abject terror.
The sudden blare of crude hunting horns echoed deafeningly close, and dark-furred shapes appeared atop the gorge, bursting from the undergrow th in a violent explosion of movement, roaring and braying for blood.
Calard caught a glimpse of bestial faces, mockeries of humanity twisted by hate, before the beasts hurled themselves from the moss-covered rocks, smashing into dozens of the knights, and tackling them from their saddles.
Most had curving horns spiralling from their foreheads and temples, and their heavily muscled flesh was covered in fur. The fur was short upon their massive, naked chests and stomachs, though it was thick, long and matted on their backs and shoulders, and dow n the backs of their powerful arms. Their legs w ere like those of a stag's, or a goat's, w ith powerful bunched muscles around the thighs and an additional joint that gave them an odd, backw ards-jointed leg ending in cloven hooves.
Warhammer - Knight Errant Page 11
